A Little Muse Of Madness
by Grell The Leper
Summary: AU, VergilxOC Young Vergil is an artist. Or at least, he wants to be, but muses are hard to come by at least, until she walks in, covered in dirt and madness, just screaming to be put on canvas.


_I have never written an AU before, but the opportunity to write one arose in English class, and after getting an A, I figured I might as well put it to use. Anyone who's read my other fic, Vergil's Adventures In Underland, will recognise Malice too, who also got dragged into this little alternate universe. I'm kind of considering writing a few AUs based on these two, maybe even stories where Malice is in the regular Devil May Cry world, though I'll see how this goes first. So, read and enjoy, and a review or two would be awesome :)_

**Disclaimer: I don't own Vergil. But I hope to entice him with marshmallows.**

**A Little Muse Of Madness**

Vergil was not having 'a good day'. He had only been trying to teach his younger brother to swim really. Mostly. It was, in no way, his fault that little Dante decided to panic when thrown into the rushing river, nor was it his fault that the boy had sunk. But of course, as the elder brother, Vergil got the blame for Dante's ineptitude when the younger boy was dragged, sopping wet, out of the river, crying about how horrible his brother was to him as he was coddled by their mother.

No, it was nothing to do with Vergil, which was why he had decided that enough was enough, leaving the Redgrave manor in favour of his usual coffee shop down town. Having reached his sixteenth birthday only weeks ago, Vergil had declared himself to be "thoroughly sophisticated", and had since taken to visiting this small coffee shop, drinking far too many mocha lattes, sitting by the window for hours and people watching over the rim of his sketchbook, drawing whomever he decreed interesting enough.

The interesting people were a rare occurance, few and far between. A bearded homeless man, playing a banjo made of boxes. A small, possibly French, woman, with more dogs than sense. Children playing on makeshift go-karts, that one in particular proving very difficult to draw. These were his usual victims of choice, but whenever he needed inspiratiom they were nowhere to be found.

Vergil ordered yet another latte, his pencil beating a distorted rhythm against his temple. Surely there was a new muse to be found somewhere?

* * *

Malice ran through the streets, ducking through archways, swerving around groups of gossiping merchants and cackling women. Her bare feet were covered in mud and grime, the layers of dirt almost reaching her knobbly, grazed and bloodied knees. She could hear the shouting behind her, the heavy footfall of working boots. They were getting closer.

She dived into a dumpster off the side of the street, all but burying herself in bulging bags of rubbish. The sound of her persuers grew over closer, muffled by her racing heart, and she scrunched her eyes shut, as if that would help. Covering her mouth in the hopes of quieting her breath, Malice was panicking. Maybe she shouldn't have run? Maybe she shouldn't have escaped in the first place? The treatments were bad enough, but the consequences if she were caught? They didn't bear thinking about.

All of the noise stopped suddenly, a deafening silence, and Malice's hands shook as she peered out over the edge of the dumpster. Three large men stood in the alleyway, their, usually pristine, white uniforms greyed with dirt.

"Do you think we lost her?" one of them whispered. The second looked furious.

"We lose her, we lose a month's wage, dammit!" he hissed. The other two nodded, flinching slightly. "Now, come on, she's not here. Let's keep moving."

Malice let out a quiet sigh of relief as the men left the alley. She sank back slowly into the dumpster, almost squishing a small, grey rat as she landed.

"Sorry, friend," she whispered. "I'll be out of your hair soon." The rat wasn't particularly bothered by the girl's attempt at an apology, turning tail to scurry deeper into the rubbish heap.

With another sigh, Malice climbed out of the dumpster, her bare feet splashing in the puddles below. Glancing around her suspiciously, she strolled out into the streets, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Not that that worked. A young girl with a shaved head, dressed in dirty, once-white rags, covered head-to-toe in filth, tended to attract attention. Malice kept her head down, avoiding eye contact with anyone she deemed likely to ask questions.

Spotting one of the uniformed men in the distance, Malice spun on her feet, ducking into the nearest shop.

* * *

Vergil barely glanced towards the door as it opened, then looked again, a small grin spreading over his face. A young girl walked into the coffee shop, covered in mud and who knew what else. She had almost no hair, only the smallest tufts suggesting a shaved head, her clothes, if they could be called such, in tatters.

'Finally,' he thought. 'Some inspiration.' The girl shuffled towards an empty chair, seemingly making herself as small as possible. Vergil readied his sketchpad on his knees, pencil in hand, quickly smoothing back his white hair.

"I'm sorry, Miss, you can't sit here unless you're buying something, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." The girl looked up at the waiter, her silvery eyes flashing in panic.

"No, wait, she's with me!" Vergil was waving her over before he knew what he was doing. "Annie, you're late!" Eyeing him with obvious uncertainty, the girl made her way towards him, sitting tentatively across from him.

"Sir, perhaps you could speak to your... friend, about the state she's left on our carpets."

"I'm sure this will more than cover it," Vergil sneered, handing the flustered waiter a wad of cash, looking down on him with his icy blue eyes.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure it will, thank you," the waiter muttered, clearly unnerved by the young man.

"Thanks for not letting them kick me out," the girl mumbled, wringing her hands together in her lap. Vergil shrugged.

"I assure you, most of it was for my own benefit. I'm Vergil Redgrave. And you are?"

"Malice. Just Malice... What do you want from me?"

"Nothing major, don't worry. Only to draw you. I can draw you better if you're here with me."

"That's all?"

"That's all."

"Can I have your drink?" Vergil smirked, starting his sketch.

"You can have as many of my drinks as you want, Miss Malice."

* * *

Two hours later, and Vergil had finally finished, having drawn a full portrait and several sketches of the girl. Malice had made her way through the menu in the mean time, finally settling on a dark hot chocolate as her favourite.

"Thank you for being my inspiration for the day, Miss Malice."

"Not a problem, thanks for the drinks." The girl gave a small smile. Glancing out the window, she noticed a small old lady pointing her way, speaking to a tall man dressed all in white.

"It's been a pleasure, Mister Redgrave, but it seems I need to run." Vergil followed her gaze and nodded.

"Here, take this," he said, handing her his long, blue trench coat. "There's money in the pocket. You need it more than I do. Good luck." Malice thanked him, slipping Vergil's coat on before striding out the door.

"See you around, Vergil."

* * *

Years later, Vergil stood at the door of his art gallery, waving in his patrons. The room was lined with his paintings, his main masterpieces all involving the girl with the silver eyes.

It had been over a decade since he had met Malice, and he hadn't seen her since. There were times he thought he saw her, glimpses in the corner of his eye, but no. That didn't, however, do anything to stop the paintings, the sketches, the dreams.

"These are really something, Mister Redgrave." Vergil was startled out of his reverie by a young woman with long, flowing black hair and... bright, silver eyes. "You didn't want your coat back, did you? I've grown a little fond of it over the years."

**The End.**


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